Oh my darling
by mtothedestiel
Summary: Dean Winchester's life isn't perfect, but he's got a good job, a safe place to live that's close to his brother, and his beautiful baby girl to take care of. Castiel regrets that the Universe must demand more of him. What will Dean sacrifice to protect those he cherishes most?
1. Chapter 1

Dean was parked in the driveway, talking on his cell phone over the idling engine. Office hours, he called them once when he was talking with Sam. Probably the only ten minutes of the day when everybody had to sit still.

"Yes ma'am, I remember, and it _is_ cute," Dean continued into the phone, "But I am not raising my daughter to believe that a man being mean to her is a healthy way of showing her he's interested. Yes ma'am…I get that three years old is a bit young to be worrying about that but I gotta start sometime. Mhm…Okay. Thank you for listening, I'm sure we'll be able to work this out without upsetting any kids. …That's right. I'll see you at our next parent-teacher conference. You have a good night now."

Dean hung up his cell phone, peering into the backseat where the most beautiful girl in the world watched him with sharp green eyes.

"You hear that baby girl?" he said with a grin, "That mean ole' Gordon isn't gonna be pullin' on your hair bows anymore." The toddler laughed, blonde curls bouncing in a halo around her round face.

"My hero!" she declared, clasping her hands below her chin in an admirable Vivian Leigh impression. Dean laughed as he stepped out of the car, the breeze setting the load of groceries in the passenger seat crackling and whispering.

"Clementine Joanna Winchester," Dean smirked as he popped open the back passenger door, "I think I've been showin' you too many Westerns lately."

"I'm the law in these parts!" she chimed, reaching for him around the car seat restraints. Dean laughed out loud before bending down to wrestle with the, in his opinion, overly complicated buckles. Em took advantage of his close proximity, planting a wet little kiss on his cheek.

"Love you Daddy," she said, causing Dean to get even more tangled in the restraints as his heart stuttered in his chest.

"Love you too, baby girl."

* * *

"You didn't tell me he had a kid," a young girl said, peering out the living room window to watch Dean Winchester struggle with the straps of a well used car seat.

"The child is the reason we're here," a tall, dark haired man stepped behind her with a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"He's pretty dreamy for somebody's dad," the girl noted.

"He is the Michael sword," the man asserted, "What else could he be but beautiful?"

"If you're into that sort of thing," she muttered under her breath. The man sighed, still puzzled by the intricacies of teenage communication.

"Come, Claire," he ordered gently, "Your father wants to help you with your homework."

Claire Novak sighed and let the curtains fall. The conclusion to Dean Winchester's perilous adventures in grocery unloading would have to remain a mystery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Okay, this story isn't my usual game, but it's been itching at me so I'm giving it my best shot. Go ahead and comment or message me if you've got any questions! Counting the prologue, this is part 2 of 4.

* * *

A week later, Dean was unpacking a fresh load of groceries and half listening to the television's report of a sudden increase in animal attacks in Wyoming, when he peeked out the front window to see Clementine talking to a strange man in a trench coat. He was out the door in two seconds, practically running down to the end of the driveway where his daughter was talking very animatedly to the stranger, who appeared to be listening with great concentration.

"Em, baby," Dean interrupted, heart thudding with relief as he saw she was okay, "What did I tell you about talking to strangers?" He dropped to one knee to talk to Clementine face to face.

"Talking to strangers is bad, and if one talks to me I'm apposed to find you," Clementine recited, "I was telling Cas-tee-el, because he didn't know the rules." Dean sighed in exasperation before rising to face this 'Cas-tee-el', very clearly placing himself between the man and his daughter.

"Can I help you?" He asked, trying to keep his tone polite. Besides the trench coat, the man was actually dressed pretty respectably, more Columbo than Constantine.

"Hello," the man greeted, "I'm sorry to surprise you. My daughter and I just moved in across the street, and when I saw you pull in I thought it might be a good chance to meet my new neighbors."

Oh. Neighbors. Daughter. Dean felt himself relax incrementally as it became clear that the stranger wasn't some kind of child snatcher.

"That's okay then. Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Dean. Dean Winchester," he introduced, "And this here is my daughter Clementine."

"Hello again!" Clementine greeted their new neighbor, extending a tiny hand to Castiel, which he shook solemnly before offering the same to Dean. He had good hands. A strong grip.

"I've heard a lot about you, Dean," Castiel said, "It's nice to finally meet."

"Yeah. Hey Em," Dean spoke to his daughter, "You wanna help sort the groceries while I talk to Castiel?"

"Okay," Clementine agreed, spinning around Dean's hand so her gingham skirt puffed out like a cupcake, "I can do the cereal!" Dean shook his head as she bounced back to the front door, hearing her barely audible "Yee-haw!" as she wrangled the plastic bags inside the kitchen before returning his attention to Castiel Novak.

"Sorry about the stranger danger routine," Dean apologized, "She's, well, she's my whole life. I'd do anything to protect her, even if it means scaring a few neighbors on accident."

"I completely understand," Castiel said, then with a curious smile, "Clementine. It's a very…traditional name."

"Yeah, blame it on her mother's redneck taste and my inability to tell a pregnant woman 'no'," Dean joked, falling a little flat as Castiel tilted his head, confused.

"Anyways…what brings you across the street?" Dean asked. Castiel looked nervous. Dean got the impression that he wasn't used to doing a lot of talking.

"It has been brought to my attention that we are the only single fathers in the neighborhood," Castiel said, shifting uncomfortably, "I was highly encouraged to introduce myself. I think the intention was that we might share mutual experiences, and perhaps enjoy each other's company."

"Let me guess," Dean said with a grin, "The Homeowner's Association harpies got to you." Castiel looked relieved, a half smile crossing his face.

"I-Yes," he agreed, "They were very helpful, but a few of the ladies were quite…aggressive."

"No worries man," Dean assured him, "You shoulda seen 'em when we first moved in. I think Jo would've blown a gasket if they tried to invite her to one more book club meeting."

"Jo?" Castiel, tilting his head curiously.

"Oh, uh, Clementine's mom," Dean explained, "She, um…"

"I understand Mrs. Winchester passed on a few years ago," Castiel said, eyes bright with sympathy, "That must have been difficult for you."

"She wasn't Mrs. Winchester yet, but yeah," Dean agreed lamely, wishing for a change of subject. Losing Jo was still a bright pain, softened only by his adoration for their daughter.

"I'm sorry," Castiel continued, "Claire, my daughter, is sometimes still burdened by her mother's death. I've tried to be strong for her, but it's hard sometimes, to know the right way to offer comfort." Dean nodded, and an awkward silence descended, Castiel shuffling feet against the asphalt the only disruption.

"Great idea, tryin' to set the two of us up," Dean joked after a long minute, grinning weakly.

"I _was_ hoping we might have more in common than personal tragedy," Castiel agreed, ducking his head in a way that Dean could only describe as endearing. He didn't seem so bad really, this Castiel. He was unassuming and soft spoken. Maybe a little stiff, but refreshing nonetheless.

"Well hey, let's not give up that easy," Dean suggested, "Maybe I could buy you a burger sometime? See if the HA ladies had the right instincts."

"As long as you allow me to buy you a beer in exchange," Castiel offered, "I would appreciate it. Are you busy this weekend?"

"I'm free on Saturday," Dean said, "As long as I can find a sitter for Em, that is."

"As I understand it, Claire is Red Cross certified for childcare," Castiel volunteered, "I'm sure she would be happy to watch Clementine for an hour or two. If you're comfortable with it, of course."

"Hey, as long as she can show me the paper work, it's a date," Dean agreed.

Castiel looked puzzled. "Is it?"

"What?"

"A date." Dean blushed at the innocence of the man's question. Castiel Novak was definitely attractive, classic tall dark and handsome, and he hadn't been put off by Dean's mama bear display in front of Clementine. It had been a while, and Dean was curious.

"Oh. Um, it can be," Dean stammered, "If that's somethin' you're interested in."

Castiel appeared to consider Dean's offer very seriously, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," he concluded at last, "I believe that would be very pleasant. Thank you."

"Okay then," Dean agreed, "Glad to meet you, neighbor." Castiel let the shake linger, tracing the contours of Dean's face with piercing blue eyes at made him blush again.

"And you as well," he said, releasing Dean's hand at last, "I look forward to seeing what else we have in common." Dean watched the man cross the street, entering his own split level ranch before turning to head back up the driveway. Well whaddya know.

* * *

Castiel was waiting by the door when Claire Novak arrived home from school. Though she was not his daughter, Claire brought a certain interest to his day that he had not previously experienced. Until the call came from the Host, they were essentially on stakeout, and Castiel found the waiting and watching monotonous. With Claire, at least, it was less so.

"How was class?" he asked as she came in the door, dumping her bags by the kitchen table as she opened the fridge to retrieve a soda.

"Boring," Claire answered, opening the soft drink with a flick of her wrist, "It's kinda hard to focus when the world is ending. Somebody was talking about their cousin getting eaten by a 'bear' out West somewhere." Castiel frowned as Claire unearthed a text book and a sheaf of paper from her unorganized bag. The world would not end if they completed their mission.

"Most likely a demon," Castiel mused, "They have been skirmishing around the globe."

"What about you?" Claire asked as she sipped on her drink, flipping through the worn algebra text, "How was the First Contact?"

"I believe it was successful," Castiel said, something warm fluttering in his chest, "Dean and I have a 'date' on Saturday." Claire's hand stilled halfway through a turning a page.

"You mean a _date_ date?" She asked, "How's that gonna help us?"

"If Dean believes me to be physically attracted to him," Castiel reasoned, "He will be more open. More willing to trust." More hurt by our inevitable betrayal, whispered another voice, which Castiel decidedly ignored.

"But are you?" Claire asked, her school books forgotten. Her expression was…strange. Uncertain. Hurt. Castiel still had trouble interpreting her myriad facial cues.

"Am I what?"

"'Physically attracted to him," Claire said, confusing emphasis on the words.

"His soul is…magnetic," Castiel mused, "He is very gentle with his child. Yes, I suppose I am."

"You're not forgetting the grand plan here, are you Castiel?" Claire asked, "I mean, not to be the teenage girl lecturing you about having a crush, but we didn't move to Iowa so you could go on dates."

"I'm more than capable of distinguishing my duty from an infatuation," Castiel asserted, "When the time comes the Michael Sword will have to take his place in the greater scheme. This changes nothing."

"And in the meantime you'll just see how far you can get with Mr. Hot Dad?" Claire asked, her voice and posture laced with scorn. Castiel squinted, trying to discern the real reason for the girl's tone.

"Whatever the motivation," Castiel told her, "Your level of antagonism is unnecessary."

"Yeah, _whatever_ Castiel."

"Claire." Castiel was growing impatient.

"Sorry if I'm not excited to see you use my dad's body to get in another man's pants," Claire said mutinously, "You _know_ what it is when you make someone have sex that doesn't want it, and I know my dad wouldn't-"

"You father assented to be my Vessel and it is my right to do with his body as I please!" Castiel snapped, and Claire paled. She was afraid of him, and Castiel immediately felt a rush of shame. He had lost himself in the excitement of a physical attraction, and forgotten the effect it might have on one of the few humans he truly cared for.

"Claire, I-I didn't mean-"

"No, you're right," she said, voice quavering, "My dad and I are just humans. What do we matter to an angel?" Before Castiel could disagree Claire fled, the door to her bedroom slamming audibly from down the hall. Castiel sighed, gathering Claire's scattered homework papers. He shouldn't tolerate Claire's insolence. He shouldn't be plagued by doubt and despair at the words of a fourteen year old girl. And yet, here he was. Perhaps it spoke to his deficiency as a warrior of God. Perhaps it just spoke to Claire's prowess as a human.

"Is she right?" Castiel asked, "Am I overstepping our bounds?"

_I gave my consent, Castiel,_ came the response, sure and serene. Castiel nodded, wishing it resolved the conflict within himself.

"Claire is understandably upset," Castiel continued, "I'm not sure I know how to…" Jimmy's consciousness stirred, and Castiel graciously withdrew, slipping calmly into a trance like state.

"Don't worry," Jimmy replied, "I'll talk to her."

_Thank you,_ Castiel murmured as Jimmy stepped into his daughter's room.

* * *

"She's got her mom's looks," Sam observed, watching his niece fondly.

"Yeah and her smart mouth too," Dean laughed.

"I dunno," Sam said, grinning, "I'm pretty sure that's all Winchester."

Dean sat with his brother at a small folding table while Clementine played on the floor, making good use of the center's meager stuffed animal collection. Dean came to visit Sam every day, but it really made his brother light up when Dean brought Em with him. She was still on her cowgirl kick, and they laughed at her colorful narrative about a stuffed lion holding up the First National Bank.

"It's a shame she has to spend so much time here," Sam mused, "S'not really the awesomest place to be a kid."

"Hey, we don't mind," Dean argued, "Clementine loves you. You're her favorite uncle."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm her _only _uncle."

"She doesn't care," Dean pointed out, which made Sam smile. He got up to sort out the groceries Dean had brought, and Dean followed him into Sam's tiny kitchenette, leaning on the counter while keeping an eye on Clementine in the adjoining room. A subdued voice on the kitchen radio gave a sobering report of a hurricane on the East Coast, completely out of season.

"So," Dean began quietly, "Any headaches this week?"

Sam frowned as he separated his bagged salad from his boxed veggie burgers. "A couple," he admitted, "Nothing too bad. I just tell my on duty about them as usual."

Dean nodded.

"Doc have anything to say lately?" Dean asked.

"Just that I'm getting better at dealing," Sam said, a small hint of pride in his voice, "That I'm showing good habits and that I might be able to move to an even more independent environment soon."

"Dude, that's awesome," Dean said, ruffling his brother's hair, "You're gonna be runnin' this place in no time." Sam laughed.

"So how are you?" Sam asked, "How's Clementine like school?"

"She loves it," Dean reported proudly, "Baby girl is smart as a whip."

"So she didn't get the Winchester brains either then," Sam joked from just inside the fridge.

"Well she got your half of them anyway," Dean laughed, before Sam stilled straightening up from the refrigerator, and Dean regretted his words instantly.

"Let's hope not," Sam said, smiling weakly. Sam was always the brains in the family, but it was his mind that turned on him when he turned twenty one and started showing signs of schizophrenia.

"Sammy I didn't mean-" Sam raised an easy hand.

"It's okay Dean, I know what you meant," he said, "So what's up with you? Besides Em, I mean."

"I have a date this weekend," Dean mentioned, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere more comfortable, "At least I think I do. The guy's a little eccentric I wasn't sure if we were entirely-" Dean's words died as he caught sight of Sam's eyes, which had gone sharp and panicked.

"What did you say?_"_ Sam's words were harsh, and Dean eyed his brother warily. Clementine was still oblivious in the next room, and Dean walked over and knelt down beside her.

"Hi Daddy," she chirped, flying a stuffed angel around the room.

"Hey Em," Dean began, keeping his voice calm and even for the sake of his daughter and his agitated brother, "Why don't you go see if nurse Missouri has a lollipop for you?" Clementine's eyes grew round and excited and she quickly scampered out of the room. Dean knew Missouri would keep her safe for few minutes. He had a little code set up with the nursing staff. Clementine asking for candy meant Sam was having a hard time, and Dean didn't want Clementine to get caught in the middle.

"Alright Sam," Dean began returning to the kitchen, "Talk to me."

"You're going on a date with a guy?" Sam asked, his knuckles whitening where he gripped the countertop. Dean frowned. He was pretty certain his sexuality wasn't the thing being questioned here.

"Yeah, man, I know I was with Jo a long time, but you knew I was-"

"No, no that's not what I'm worried about," Sam said, beginning to pace, "What does he look like?"

"Castiel? I dunno, handsome," Dean admitted, "messy dark hair, sorta stiff, killer blue eyes though-" Sam was going white as a sheet and Dean strayed closer, holding his brother's gaze.

"Sam, you gotta calm down," Dean coaxed, "You're on the verge of an anxiety attack, man."

"Don't go Dean," Sam begged, "Please. Tell him you changed your mind."

"What's the matter?" Dean asked, "Is this about me, or Jo? Mom and Dad? Come on little brother, you can tell me anything." Sam slumped against the refrigerator, winding his fingers in his long hair. In times like these it was so easy for Dean to forget his brother was almost thirty. Sam looked small and genuinely afraid as he looked up at him.

"I've had the same nightmare three times this week," he confessed, "They've all been about you. That's never happened to me before and it's scaring the shit outta me."

"Hey, man, you know they're not real," Dean soothed. Sam still got the occasional hallucination, but the nightmares were frequent. The doctor's were trying to adjust his medication, worried the dreams were a side effect.

"Yeah it's easy to remember that when it's strangers disappearing and getting hurt," Sam said, "But this time it's you, and I can't shake it."

"What's this got to do with me dating again?" Dean asked.

"It's not the dating," Sam told him, "It's the guy. Every dream, you're with this guy, a guy with sad blue eyes. You always…you're laughing but then something happens and you disappear in a flash of light."

"Dude, you don't even know if it's the same person," Dean tried to dismiss, "I'm not gonna get abducted by aliens if I go on a date with Castiel." Sam shook his head, huffing in frustration.

"Don't you see it?" Sam asked, "The reporters, the churches, they're all panicking. All the disasters in the last few weeks? Something's coming, and now I'm having dreams about you disappearing. Something's wrong, Dean, and it's got something to do with you and that guy."

"Look…" Dean murmured, shaking his head, "I know what you're feeling is real, and I wish I could make it go away, but you know what this is right?"

"Not this time," Sam insisted, rubbing his palms against his closed eyes, "It's too clear, too bright. Too many things keep lining up-"

"Hey," Dean interrupted before Sam could work himself up again, "People get hurt every day. There's always a hurricane or a twister or a forest fire. It doesn't mean anything Sam. It's not on you to save them all."

"Please, you've gotta believe me," Sam pleaded. Dean wrapped a steadying arm around his brother's shoulders.

"I believe that you're upset," Dean said, "I believe that you're worried about me, and I appreciate it, but you don't have to be. I'm the big brother, remember? I do the worrying around here."

"Dean-"

"Sam." They sat silently for a few minutes, until Sam's hands slowly relaxed, loosening where they had be wound tight in the hem of his shirt.

"You okay?" Dean asked, rubbing soothing circles against his back. Sam nodded, and Dean clapped him on the knee before rising, offering his brother a hand up as he stretched out a crick in his back.

"I swear Sammy, I'm getting old," Dean laughed, and Sam smiled a little as he finished putting away his bags. Clementine returned a few minutes later with extra safety pops for Dean and Uncle Sam and he was soon laughing again, though from time to time Dean couldn't help but notice the sad weight of Sam's gaze, as though he was already preparing himself for Dean's loss.

* * *

Castiel was…well Castiel was great; Dean was quickly coming to the conclusion. He was quiet and grounding, and so _different_ than anyone Dean had ever been out with. Castiel listened raptly to Dean's stories of Clementine, and his own dry recounting of some of his run-ins with Claire's new found sense of teen age rebellion had Dean throwing his head back in laughter. It was disconcerting, to say the least, watching Castiel, shy and withdrawn as he spoke to their waitress, blunt and witty as he talked to Dean, then sinfully sensual as his lips wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle, his Adam's apple bobbing as he sipped the chilled liquid.

Reserved though he was in speech, Castiel wasn't shy when it came to dinner, consuming his burger with speed and enthusiasm as though he'd never tasted ground beef in his life. Blue eyes met Dean's, full of wonder, and Dean found he couldn't look away. That he didn't really want to.

Dean was still looking at Castiel when they pulled into his driveway at the end of the night. His eyes had gone distant, afraid almost. Dean nudged the man gently with his shoulder. Castiel jumped, focus back on Dean.

"You okay?" he asked. Castiel blinked, then let his shoulder slump, nodding.

"Just…thinking," he mumbled. Dean nodded, stepping out of the car into the cool night air.

* * *

The call was sounding. Lucifer was gathering his strength, and Castiel's brother's voices were a clamor in the back of his mind. Sam Winchester could only be defended from the Morning Star's advances for so much longer. The Vessel was needed. Castiel stared at the figure of Dean Winchester, the broken in soles of his boots against the pavement, the sturdy set of his hips above his bowed legs, the worn and comfortable slump of the leather jacket over his broad shoulders. Castiel traced the curve of Dean's mouth, and the fragile lines around his eyes, and he wished there was more time. There is none, his brothers insisted. Do your duty, Castiel.

"Dean. There's something I have to tell you," Castiel began as they stood in his driveway, the purr of the Impala filling the darkening night air with warm sound.

"Me too," Dean agreed, silhouetted against the headlights of his car as he took one of Castiel's hands in his own. Dean's palms were rough, calloused from labor, but his fingers were nimble, meant to fine tune an engine or buckle a toddler's tiny shoe. Castiel forgot the plans of angels as Dean's thumb brushed back and forth over his knuckles.

"I don't go on a lot of dates," Dean confessed, "Ever since Jo… Clementine is too small, and I don't like to drag people in and out of her life."

"I understand," Castiel said, disappointment warring with relief. Perhaps it would be easier now, less painful to—Dean's hand tightened around his own as he noticed Castiel's crestfallen expression.

"No! That's not what I meant," he stammered, stepping closer, "I meant—I _mean_—I don't go on a lot of dates…but I'd really like to see you again." Castiel could feel the warmth of Dean's skin across the scant inches between them. He could just feel the puff of Dean's breath against his own lips, his tongue flicking out to wet them reflexively. Castiel watched Dean's green eyes follow the motion.

"Whaddya say, Cas?" Dean asked, a nickname, an endearment, rolling off his tongue with ease.

_Oh how I wish, _Castiel thought, as Dean's hands curled into the lapels of his trench coat. "God, _yes_," betrayed his mouth.

"Good," Dean breathed, haloed in gold headlights, "Good." Castiel knew, logically, what was coming when Dean closed the distance between them, but the first brush of Dean's lips against his still blew his eyes open wide. Dean paused at his shocked expression, but Castiel nodded frantically, encouraging him to continue. Dean smiled, and expert hands guided Castiel's face just so, fitting their mouths together again with practiced ease.

Castiel felt a tendril of heat low in his belly, and he blushed against Dean's soft mouth. This body was his now as much as Jimmy's and it was responding to the urges of his Grace. Dean seemed to like the color in Castiel's cheeks, kissing against the stubbled flesh before reclaiming Castiel's lips, parting them with an inquisitive tongue and a soft sound that Castiel eagerly swallowed. Dean leaned against the hood of his car, thighs parted just enough to invite Castiel forward, to allow the slightest brush of their hips as Castiel cradled Dean's skull in his hands and took his first tastes of human pleasure.

The first spasm of pain completely blindsided him. Castiel jerked away from Dean, stumbling senseless as a razor edge sliced and shredded the edges of his Grace, sending Jimmy's heart into palpitations.

Michael. He was so _angry. _Castiel fell, retching as his brother's Wrath contracted his lungs and twisted his guts. Dean was calling him, but Castiel flinched away, putting space between himself and Michael's Vessel.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Castiel cried out, "Forgive me, brother!" He shuddered one final time, sobbing in blessed relief as the pain eased and his Vessel was able to heal. Castiel begged Jimmy's forgiveness even as he prayed for Michael's.

"Cas?" Dean was still trying to speak to him. "What the hell is happening?" Castiel sipped frantic breaths, hands still flat to the ground in supplication. Dean was upset, angry even. This was not how normal humans reacted to being kissed. He would require an explanation.

"I touched," Castiel gasped at last, "I touched that which did not belong to me."

"You wanna elaborate on that?" Dean asked, voice wary. Castiel's shoulders slumped, and his Grace fluttered feebly. Dean Winchester's time of innocence was at an end.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord," Castiel said, weary as he climbed to his feet, "And I tried to lay claim on my brother Michael's Vessel. You."


	3. Chapter 3

"Angels," Dean repeated numbly, "You're an angel."

"Yes." Castiel's face was drawn, the pretty flush in his cheeks vanished after that seizure, or whatever he'd just had.

"Okay," Dean began, "I don't know what's goin' on in that noggin' of yours Cas, but believe me, there's no judgment here. I know some good doctors-"

"Dean," Castiel implored, "This is going to be much easier if you just believe me."

"Cas…" Dean shook his head. Angels? Vessels? This was one of Sam's nightmares. It wasn't real.

"You are the Michael Sword," Castiel said, voice dropping in timbre, "The True Vessel of an archangel. I am not lying to you." Dean stumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the pavement when Castiel straightened his shoulders to unfurl a pair of massive wings. Not wings, the functioning part of Dean's brain corrected, shadows. They stretched the width of Castiel's white sided split level ranch and beyond, the outline fading as they eclipsed the Impala's headlights. They would make an albatross look like a parakeet. Dean was wordless as he rose from the blacktop, trying to process what was before his eyes as Castiel stared him down. His constant first instinct bubbled to the surface and Dean followed it.

"Where's Clementine?"

Castiel slouched again and the wings faded, releasing a crackle from the air that Dean hadn't noticed.

"Dean-" Castiel's words were cut off when Dean slammed him against the garage door. Angels, wings, whatever. Dean could be intimidating too.

"_Where is my baby?_" Dean demanded, voice razor blade sharp. Castiel removed Dean's hands from his chest with strength that betrayed his tax accountant exterior.

"Dean, please calm yourself," Castiel spoke as if Dean were a spooked horse, "Clementine is safe inside with Claire."

"Is she an angel too?"

"Claire? No. She's my Vessel's daughter."

"You have a Vessel?" Dean asked as Castiel unlocked the front door without a key.

"Yes. His name is Jimmy. No angel can walk the earth without a human host," Castiel explained, "Without a body to contain our Grace we would be little more than nuclear force, bringing utter destruction anywhere we manifested. Certain human bloodlines are more inclined to be Vessels."

"And you think I'm like Jimmy?" Dean asked as they walked into the living room, "You think I'm some angel's rent-a-tux?"

"You are nothing like Jimmy," Castiel's voice was tight, "He is made to hold a seraph's Grace; a mere candle flame like mine. You were born to cradle the Sun."

Dean tried to process this information while Castiel conferred with Claire, who was doing homework at the kitchen table. She threw Dean a glance that was half fear half pity before answering Castiel's murmured question. The angel led Dean down a small hallway, before opening a door to what must have been Claire's bedroom. It was sparse, but a few well worn books and movies lined a shelf, and a picture of Claire with an auburn haired woman that must have been her mother on the bedside table. Clementine was fast asleep, tucked under Claire's bright floral bedspread. Dean approached softly, tracing a small line on her cheek where she must have lain funny on the cotton sheets. Her round face was peaceful, flushed from a day of activity and well earned exhaustion. Dean found his breath matching the rhythm of his daughter's as he returned to Castiel in the hallway, temporarily placated with the knowledge of Clementine's safety.

"You've got about five seconds to explain to me why I shouldn't take my kid and get as far away from you as possible right now," Dean growled, keeping his voice low as his daughter slept just inside.

"Because if you leave now you will lose everyone you love," Castiel said dispassionately. Dean's eyes widened and he was halfway back to Clementine before Castiel held him with a firm hand around his bicep.

"Dean, surely you've seen the signs. Hurricanes out of season? 'Animal attacks'? I'm not trying to threaten you," Castiel whispered, "I'm trying to help you protect your family."

His family? Clementine was here. Clementine was safe. That left…

"Sam." Dean's heart was thudding in his chest.

"Sam is protected," Castiel assured him, "Sam has been protected since he was twenty two years old and started receiving visions."

"Visions?" Dean barked a harsh laugh. "Yeah, that's great," he snapped, "My brother has fucking schizophrenia and you want to tell me-"

"Your brother does _not_ have a mental illness," Castiel countered him harshly, "Your brother is a Vessel, like you, which allowed him to manifest psychic abilities. My brothers have listened to him recount his visions to his doctors and acted on them. Sam's power has saved countless lives." Dean blinked, breathing harshly as Castiel stared him down. His anger was dwindling, and something like panic was welling up in its place.

"What?" Dean asked, his voice rough. Castiel took a deep breath, leading him back to the living room, where they could speak normally. Claire leaned against the entryway to the kitchen, silent and curious.

"You are an Angelic Vessel," Castiel said carefully, "You and your brother are the True Vessels of Michael and Lucifer."

"I'm a _mechanic_."

"You are the Michael Sword," Castiel said again, "With your consent my brother will destroy the Devil."

"Cas," Dean pleaded, "Come on man, I don't _believe_ in any of this stuff. I haven't been to church since I left home."

"I'm afraid it's no longer an issue of belief," Castiel confided, "Only of permission."

"He needs my permission walk around in my skin?" Dean asked, "What if I say no?"

"You can't refuse him," Castiel said, shaking his head.

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded.

"Because," Castiel continued with mournful eyes, "If you do not accept Michael, he will see out the next available Vessel in your family line. He will take your daughter."

"Like hell he will-" Castiel made no time for Dean's posturing.

"He will," Castiel informed him, "He will manipulate Clementine into assenting with no remorse. But it will take time, and in that time Lucifer's power will increase tenfold, and Sam could be lost. Then you will watch while your daughter and your brother destroy each other."

Even Dean's panic was abandoning him, leaving him in a cold state of reality. He stared at Castiel's shoes as he spoke. They were sensible and understated, like the man who wore them. The angel who wore them, Dean corrected himself ruefully. He wished he couldn't still taste Castiel in his mouth, knowing that the spit they swapped really belonged to somebody else.

"What's gonna happen to me?" he asked, ashamed of how small his voice sounded as he sank on the Novak's sofa.

"My dad's okay, Dean," Claire finally chimed in, "Being a Vessel won't destroy you. This is the easiest way."

"'Easy' isn't the likeliest word to describe this situation, Claire," Castiel corrected softly, "Perhaps for now you should stay with Clementine." Claire nodded, leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the living room.

"Let me talk to him," Dean said at last. Castiel frowned.

"Michael?"

"Jimmy."

"Oh," Castiel's voice was gentle, like the call of a dove, "I…yes. If he doesn't mind."

Dean rested in face in his hands, pressing some of the tension from behind his eyes as he waited.

"What is it you want to know, Dean?" The voice that spoke was unrecognizable. Softer. Mild.

Dean didn't look up, fingers steepled over the bridge of his nose as he exhaled.

"What's it like?" he asked.

The man across the room was silent for a while.

"It's…like being chained to a comet," Jimmy said at last, "Overwhelming light and sound, with striking moments of clarity."

"Are you," Dean hesitated, unsure how to phrase his question, "Are you alright?"

Jimmy took a seat on the coffee table across from Dean. Dean watched the hands he recognized curl into an unfamiliar formation, just a casual clasp between the man's knees, thumbs brushing together absently. He finally looked up, meeting calm blue eyes and a smooth brow. _Christ,_ it was spooky. Dean realized with a lurch that despite being identical to Castiel down to his DNA, he didn't find Jimmy Novak attractive. Jimmy smiled, a faint thing, entirely different from Castiel's rare smirk.

"I'm….different than I was," he confided, "My body is not my own, but I hear, I see, _everything. _Honestly, it's disorienting. Sometimes I feel like I've blinked but really a month has passed, and other times Castiel gives me control, and a single afternoon with Claire is like a year." Jimmy's eyes misted over in fondness as he mentioned his daughter's name. Dean frowned, mired in confusion.

"But couldn't you be with her all the time?" Dean asked, "Why don't you send Cas packing?" Jimmy shook his head.

"I can't withdraw my consent," he said, "I...I don't want to. Without my wife-without Amelia-there's not much here for me, and Castiel is good to us. He can keep Claire safe, in ways I never could."

Dean understood Jimmy's motivations, though he doubted Michael would offer his family the same comforts. His gut churned as he imagined Clementine looking up at him, only to see the cold gaze of an archangel, while Dean cried out for her, shackled in his own body. More devastating, he pictured his baby taken by a Warrior of God, her face ancient and cruel behind her blush stained cheeks.

"Dean." Jimmy's hand on his shoulder was comforting and brotherly. "I know what's at stake for you."

"I'll do anything to protect her," Dean breathed.

"Know this," Jimmy warned, "If you say yes, Michael may take you for an hour, or he can take you for a thousand years, and you will be powerless against him."

"If it were you," Dean posed, "And it were you or Claire, would you say yes?" Jimmy smiled, sad and tired.

"I already did," came the answer, but when Dean looked up in shock, it was into Castiel's sharp blue eyes, brow furrowed in concern.

"You made him choose?" Dean accused, "You would have taken her?"

"I would have," Castiel confessed, shame clouding his stoic features, "But I'm not who I once was. …I would do anything not to have you do this."

"There's not really much choice in the matter, is there?"

"There's always a choice," Castiel insisted. Dean shook his head.

"Did you know this was gonna happen?" Dean asked, "Coming over, going out together, the whole time you knew?" Again Castiel wilted.

"Our time spent together was not a charade," Castiel assured him, "But yes. I knew this was to be your greater role." Dean nodded, and Castiel's hand fell from his shoulder. Dean missed the touch.

"I'll do it," he whispered, eyes closed. From Castiel's soft exhale he knew the angel was relieved.

"Just," Dean continued, "Let me say goodbye to Clementine. Please."

"Of course." Castiel followed him down the hall, where Dean paused, collecting himself.

"Where will she go?" There were so many holes. So many loose ends that Dean didn't understand, but he'd come to accept what was happening. All he cared about now was her.

"Claire and I will care for her," Castiel promised, "Nothing could harm her while she is under my protection."

"You'd do that?" Dean asked.

"That was our entire reason for coming here," Castiel confessed, "You're a good man, Dean. It is not our intention that you should suffer for your sacrifice."

They stood, Dean haloed by the warm light of the bedroom while Castiel remained in the blue darkness of the hallway.

"Why is she with you?" Dean asked, "Claire."

Castiel pondered Dean's question for a moment.

"Claire was my penance," he answered, "My inaction led to her mother's death, and I felt remorse. But now…now I believe she is my friend. Being with her offers me solace."

Dean nodded before heading into the room where Clementine lay asleep. She stirred as the mattress creaked with his weight.

"Hey Em," Dean said, taking one of Clementine's hands in his own. She was still so little; the spread of her fingers barely reached the edge of his palm.

"You're back," Clementine declared, her sleepy face lighting up with Dean's presence, "Did you and Castiel eat hamburgers?" Dean smiled at his daughter's priorities.

"We did," Dean confided, "Did you have a good time with Claire?"

"Uh huh," she nodded, "She taught me how to do big girl braids, see?" Clementine showed him a few small braids hidden in her loose waves, colorful bands holding them in place. Dean admired each one, sad that Clementine had gone so long without a female figure in her life. His own fumblings with hair ties and children's clothing outlets were a sorry replacement, he was sure. Maybe Claire could help Clementine while he was gone.

"Daddy, why are you sad?" Clementine was already too much like him, perceptive and eager to ease the pain of others. Dean debated whether or not to simply paste on a smile and lull his daughter back to sleep, but he remembered Jimmy's words. He could be gone for years; a lifetime even. When she was old enough perhaps Castiel could explain it to her, but for now Dean could only be honest, and give her as much of the truth as she would be able to understand. Clementine waited for his answer, the green eyes that matched his own so closely bright and worried.

"Clementine, I have to go away," Dean explained, "Maybe for a long time. I don't wanna leave you, so I'm sad."

Clementine's little brow furrowed in confusion.

"Where are you going?" Dean bit his lip, trying to hold back his own despair at the uncertainty of his future.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I wish I knew, baby. But Castiel says there's a big plan, and they need my help to save the world."

"Are you gonna go be an angel like momma?" Christ, there were no words. Dean swallowed.

"No honey, not like momma," he assured her. She nodded, relieved, and yet her pale lashes were already growing heavy with tears, the swift emotion that only a child could possess.

"I don't want you to go," she said, voice small and hands clinging as she reached for Dean. He bundled her against his chest, each tiny sob ricocheting through him like a bullet.

"Hey, hey," Dean stroked the soft skin of his daughter's tearstained cheek, "It's okay, baby girl."

"When will you come back?" Clementine asked, voice muffled against Dean's t-shirt.

"Just the minute I can," Dean promised, "Until then, you're gonna stay with Claire and Castiel. They're gonna take care of you." He tried to keep his voice level, tried not to let his arms get too tight, tried not to let Clementine see his tears.

"I like Claire." Clementine's sniffles were quieting, and the razor cut that much less, Dean knowing that he wasn't leaving his daughter somewhere she was afraid.

"That's good," Dean told her, then, with a catch in his throat, "How much do I love my Clementine?"

It was a game. Their game, played to make getting dressed for school easier, or when Dean was trying to get dinner ready, or during long car trips.

"More than pie?" Clementine responded, looking up from where she was nestled just under his chin.

"Psshh, lots more than pie," Dean laughed, jostling her until she was smiling again.

"More than your car?" A tiny yawn stretched her pink mouth wide.

"Way more than my car," Dean assured her. He rubbed slowly up and down her back, and Clementine's head rested a little heavier against his chest.

"More than the _whole_ world?" Came the sleepy question. Dean pressed his lips to her soft hair.

"So much more, baby girl," he whispered.

Clementine made a small contented sound, and after a few minute, Dean felt the even puff of her breath against his neck and knew she was asleep again. As gentle as the first time he'd held her, Dean laid Clementine down, carefully tucking the comforter around her small form before stretching out beside her on the cramped twin mattress. Dean curled his knees in; encircling her, offering the protection of his own body for what could be the last time.

Dean watched the rise and fall of his daughter's chest for what felt like hours before Castiel's hand slipped into his field of vision, two fingers touching gently to Clementine's forehead.

"She won't awaken until morning." Dean nodded, swallowing as he brushed Em's straw blonde hair behind her ears. So much like Jo. He rose, reluctant, still seated on the bed.

"Will you take her home?" he asked Castiel, "It might-might be easier if she wakes up in her own bed tomorrow."

"Of course," Castiel promised, "With your permission, Claire and I will remain with her there, until you can return."

"Yeah. Yeah," Dean agreed, "I'll uh, I'll give you my keys, and all the insurance and stuff you might need is in a drawer in the kitchen. Clementine knows where all her clothes and things are and how to—how to…" Dean clapped a shaking hand over his mouth as his voice broke over the preparations for his absence. A hand fell to his shoulder, and Dean leaned into the angel's touch.

"Just, don't let her get sad," Dean pleaded, "She get's sad sometimes, over her momma, and I…I can't-"

The hand squeezed. "I will do everything in my power," Castiel vowed.

"Thank you," is all Dean could say. Castiel stepped away, and Dean knew it was time. He took a deep breath, and stood.

"Can you take her now?" Dean asked, "If I pick her up I might not be able to put her down." Castiel nodded, and Dean watched as the angel carefully gathered Clementine in his arms, tucking her head gently against his shoulder as she slept on. Dean felt like he was in another life as he followed Castiel down the hall, his eyes washing longingly over his baby's fringe of soft hair, fluttering with the rhythm of Castiel's steps. Another life, where Cas lived in his house and slept in his bed. Where Clementine had a big sister and a second father. Dean's heart broke as they reached the living room. Em was gonna have those things. Just not him.

"Just go, please," he begged, handing over his keys. Claire took them, and Castiel placed Clementine in her waiting arms. Dean closed his eyes as the front door opened and closed, leaving him alone in the room with Castiel. The angel's voice was mournful as he spoke.

"I'll open the channel of communication," Castiel said, "All you have to do is accept him, and Michael will do the rest." Dean clenched his jaw and nodded, waiting for the tap of two fingers. Instead, a warm hand cupped his face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone, wiping a stray tear away as new voices began to spring up in Dean's mind. It was like birdsong, or radio static. There was a flutter of wings, and Dean was alone with the sound. It grew, not in volume, but in scope, eclipsing Dean's senses and even the sound of his own heart beat. The myriad voices drove Dean to his knees, and he wept from the overwhelming sensation.

A question filtered down through the voices. Dean answered yes.

* * *

Castiel held Clementine close when the house across the street exploded in a blaze of white light, cradling her with his Grace and protecting her from the seismic shocks that follows Michael's manifestation. Claire hovered nearby, and the pair sat vigil over Dean Winchester's child as her father gave himself up for the sake of the world.


End file.
